


Lissom Locum

by melonbug



Series: Lissom Locum [1]
Category: Avatar (TV), Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-08 05:22:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5485178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonbug/pseuds/melonbug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Locum, noun: a person who fulfills the position of another.</p><p>Toph has memories, vague and distant, that are not her own and she knows: Avatars die, and they die at the hands of the Fire Nation, and she is headed, willingly, into the hands of those whose line has seen the deaths of the prior Avatars at their own hands. But the war is over.</p><p>The world is different now.</p><p>An Avatar!Toph AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

If it were not the most efficient means of getting from point A to point B (point A being Gaoling and point B being the capital city of the Fire Nation) Toph decides that she would never, ever set foot on any kind of seafaring vessel again, be it ship or boat or canoe. As it is, though, she is currently standing on the deck of the Azalea, a Fire Nation ship bound for the Royal Palace.

From where she stands on the deck, the warm metal coarse and rough against her bare feet, her sight radiates outwards, from stern to bow. She singles out the distant heartbeat of a lone crew member moving about the ship’s upper cabin and his footsteps echo through the metal, sending vibrations up through her feet and throbbing through her ears as if she could actually hear him, as far away as he is.

The comfort of sight, out in the middle of the ocean, has done little to make this journey any more bearable, however. For twelve long days, the rocking of the boat has made her stomach queasy, the stench of saltwater has stung her nostrils and only furthered her nausea, and the constant sounds, from the steady thrum of the engine room, vibrating through the many levels of the ship and into her, like so many pins and needles jolting against her legs, to the sound of the ocean, powerful and strong and spraying it’s mist against the ship’s bow, has set her head to throbbing on a far too regular basis.

She misses being grounded. She misses earthbending, longs for it all the more on the days when the firebending members of the crew perform their drills and she sits atop the ship’s cabin and listens to them, reveling in the warmth and the energy they exude as they move, a beautifully choreographed formation.

She closes her eyes (as useless as the action is) and draws a deep breath of ocean air and holds it, counts slowly to ten– eight, nine, ten– then releases, feeling her rib cage tighten on the exhale. She widens her stance, imagines the firebenders in her mind, the subtle variations in their movements, and attempts to feel something, anything, within her resembling warmth. The movements are certain and jerky, a bit like dancing, she thinks, and she follows them, thrusts a fist forward and–

Nothing.

She can not firebend. Can not waterbend or airbend, either. Not properly anyway, but at least the water ripples at her touch and the air stirs against her fingers.

If she focused hard enough, sought out the impurities within the metal, reducing it to it’s true form, a product of earth, she could feel the smooth plating of the ship’s deck warp beneath her feet. She can metalbend, but the fire isn’t there. Sure, she can make a flame dance but she can not see it or feel it. There is warmth and she’s learned quickly that that means nothing. That was the cycle, though: Earth, Fire, Air, and Water, and so she has to master Fire next, before either of the other two.

There’s no one left to teach her Airbending anyway, she thinks and swallows the thought down.

She sighs and steps her way across the deck, aware of the many eyes of the Dai Li upon her, hidden away in their shadows, as they do. She thinks it a waste of their energy to protect her, more so a waste of her father's money, which has no doubt been heavily funneled into this protection- Protection which she does into need.

She could bring down cities. She’s the Avatar.

If she’d had her way, she would have made the trip alone, but never has she had such luck. The Earth King is powerful and relentless and has no shortage of brainwashed warriors to send to all corners of the globe with her. Protection is just an excuse, as weak as it is, for him to have constant eyes on her.

Idly, she rests her hands against the ship’s railing, feeling the metal give way at just a touch. She can’t earthbend out at sea, but she can still metalbend. Carefully, she bends the metal outward, curves it around onto itself and she grins, satisfied. She feels a bit in control again at the rush the bending gives her.

Nearby, she can feel the movement of a Dai Li, suddenly alert at her behavior, eyes on her, no doubt, though she can not see that for herself. 

She curls her hands tight around the railing and does not unclench them until his presence drifts away again, at last. I am the Avatar, she wants to scream, at everyone, out at the ocean, to anyone who will actually listen to her. She does not need protecting, does not need to be watched, she is a master Earthbender, the most powerful earthbender. She is stronger than any guards her father could find, more powerful than any army of soldiers the Earth King could provide.

And yet she is continually treated as a delicate flower, as something to be protected. An asset not to be lost, to the King, even to her parents, who insist they love her but have locked her away from the world her entire life. For her own ‘protection.’

She is blind, not stupid.

Still, though, she has memories, vague and distant, that are not her own and she knows. Avatars die, and they die at the hands of the Fire Nation, and she is headed, willingly, into the hands of those whose line has seen the deaths of the prior Avatars at their own hands.

She tries not to think too hard about the fact that a firebending Avatar is next in line and how easy it would be for the Fire Nation to finally have the pawn they’ve always wanted if she were to die. It’d be another fifteen, twenty years, but that would be nothing compared to the hundred years they’d spent hunting the other Avatars just to get there.

All of her father’s money could not protect her from that though, all of the Earth King’s army could not save her. If she could not protect herself from the Fire Nation, a hundred men weaker than herself could do no better.

It is a joke to them, a political game that they have dragged her into against her wishes. She doesn’t care about influence or representing military might. She doesn’t care what the Earth Kingdom has to prove, she cares only about what she has to prove.

The Fire Nation has a shaky treaty with the Earth Kingdom, and they will not harm her, not with so much at stake. There is no reason for them to invite her here, only to kill her and start another war. They just finished a hundred years of war and they are only all the more weak for it.

Everyone is.

 

The Avatar is, despite her slight five foot two, tall in her regality, with a posture born of years of tolerance of the manners and etiquette befitting and reserved and, indeed, expected of those of a noble class. She strides from the ship as if the very land beneath her were hers, head held high and shoulders drawn high and back, defining both the lovely drape of her rather simple dress, made of the finest Earth Kingdom silks of appropriate colors and, beneath it, the barest hint of curves. Her hair, though pulled high in an elaborate bun, is askew and loose about her face such that only the slender, rounded slant of her jaw stands easily visible from across the Plaza.

There is something, though, in the swagger of her step, the hesitation of those around her, who walk as if on needles, who, with every step she takes, seem more attentive to her than to the spread of the square, that piques the crown prince’s interest and drives his attention only to her, despite the entourage of diplomats and emissaries that follow her and, beyond that, groups of lithe, vacant soldiers who sneak as if in shadow, though in broad daylight. The Dai Li, Zuko’s mind supplies, but he loses interest in them as quickly as it had come, eyes back upon the Avatar.

The first Avatar in over a hundred years to set food on Fire Nation soil and she strides onto it as though there were nothing to fear, as if Avatars didn’t typically come to the Fire Nation to die.

(But they don’t anymore, and indeed that is why she is the first in so long.)

Zuko straightens where he stands and draws his shoulders high, fighting against the weight of his formal robes. His hair, pulled up too tight and equally as formal as his dress, is bringing about a headache and he closes his eyes for a long moment, forcing it away.

His mother, to his right, breaks briskly from their position near the base of the Plaza stairs and makes her way to the entourage approaching. All of this has been her– the planning, the events, the entire Peace Summit- all of it. She is a diplomat, first, with a regal, powerful presence, despite herself. A Lady, second, composed and polite, her posture the same as the Avatar’s, head high, shoulders back.

She is consort to the Fire Lord, last. Zuko doesn’t dwell on it.

Beside him his sister falls in line with Ursa, quiet as always and small in their mother’s shadow. 

(as always)

Azula is hawkish, though, dressed in her formal armor, all reds and blacks against his and their mother’s reds and golds. A military might beside political affluence. It’s surprisingly fitting, an appropriate enough presentation for the welcoming of the Avatar, as low key as this event is. Low key for the sake of security and subtlety. 

Zuko eyes the Dai Li once more, spreading out around the Avatar, and thinks security is not a real concern here, but subtlety. They are far more conspicuous than he has been led to believe.

Finally, the Avatar reaches them and gives a small bow, loose strands of hair falling from her hurried bun. And finally, as she lifts her head to Ursa, Zuko catches sight of her face in full– skin, as pale up close as from far away, and large, vacant eyes that send a shudder through him.

She’s blind.

He’s visibly startled and Azula murmurs something under her breath, but his mother does not so much as flinch.

She bows in return, large and sweeping. “Welcome to the Fire Nation, Avatar Bei Fong,” she says and the Avatar, for what it’s worth, smiles, unphased by any reaction to her.

 

Only the briefest introductions are made before they are swept away to the palace. He makes the ride back with Azula, and his mother with the Avatar and her closest Dai Li guards. His sister is silent the most of the way but she watches him hawkishly, shoulders tense. The buzz of the Avatar’s arrival has bore them no shortage of stress, Azula in particular.

The silence bares into him and her gaze sets him more so on edge. She is too much their mother, in all the ways that are scariest and most intimidating, and he grits his teeth against her quiet solitude.

“Mai will be there tonight,” he says when at last he thinks the silence will swallow him, “At the party.”

She gives him only a vague look that he can’t quite place and nods, finally, finally looking away, turning her gaze instead to the window of their carriage.

“Can you train a blind girl?” she asks. Her biting tongue replaces her eyes on him just as easily.

He shifts in his seat, awkward. “I said I would train her,” he says softly. “That was the arrangement.”

Across from him, Azula scoffs. 

 

They doll her up– her new attendants. Toph stands in the middle of her new room in the Fire Nation Palace, a room as grand as any at the Earth King’s Palace, half nude in her underclothes with half a dozen girls moving about her.

The Palace is stifling, her bare feet hot against the marble, the air thick and moist. Sweat beads along her brow and is wiped away as quickly as it forms by the girl doing her makeup. The cream being applied to her face is cool and soothing and she welcomes the sensation, as uncomfortable as she is. 

“Do you have a preferred look, Avatar Bei Fong?” the girl asks, and Toph shifts from foot to foot, more to ease her restlessness but she finds the difficulty it brings the girl, her hands stalling at the movement, an added bonus. She feigns ignorance.

“I wouldn’t know,” she responds, revelling in the satisfaction the coming awkwardness is going to give her, “I don’t do my own makeup.” The mood of the room shifts, the anxious buzz around her falling silent. The girl’s hands remain steady on her face, though, completely unfazed. “I’ll figure something out,” she says, no doubt smiling.

‘Something’ turns out to be heavy eyes and full lips and it must look lovely because the other girls ooh and ahh at it as they move onto her hair.

There’s a party in her honor, set to begin when the sun sets, to kick off the peace summit. She is no stranger to being dolled up and indeed the Earth King was grand– anything was excuse enough for a celebration or a gala or a ball, whatever he wanted to call it any given week to add variety to his shenanigans. And at every one she was a prop, to be put on his arm and shown off. Dolled up, not the Avatar but a status symbol.

This, though, will maybe be different. She is here as an emissary, to learn and to train, to bridge the peace gap left behind in the wake of the shaky treaty between the Earth Kingdom and the Fire Nation.

All around her, the attendants fret over her hair, a thick, disastrous mess from her many days at sea. It would seem the humidity does not agree with it and she grimaces only a little as they wrangle it in with first a brush and then a comb, ridding it of its wildness.

And then after, far after, considering the nature of her hair, she stands in the middle of the room once more, arms outstretched as they wrap cloth tightly about her waist. It’s routine by now, she could do it herself, blind as she is, but she stands still and obedient as they dress her, the more so she is the sooner they will be finished with her.

And when they are done they all stand back and ooh and ahh once more and she smiles but finds it more than ironic that they judge her for a beauty she cannot herself see or judge herself on. She does not know what beauty is or means. She hears tiny waist, narrow face, full lips all the time but there is no meaning to it, not for her.

She wonders what she looks like, but she doesn’t ask.

“What are the colors of this dress?” She asks instead. The material is thicker than she’s accustomed to, with tight embroidery throughout it. She runs her fingers across it, taking in the texture.

The girl from before, make up girl, answers. “Earth Kingdom,” she tells her, understanding the meaning behind her question. “Pale green, with darker embroidery and–”

Toph stops her with a wave of her hand, hearing enough. “I’m sure it’s lovely,” she says.

 

The party is exactly as dull as Zuko had expected. The disdainful politics of the evening keep him moving, from person to person, all of them vapid and ass kissing. They smile and shower him in pretty words to get in his good graces and he makes sure to remember least fondly the names of those who subscribe to such tactics.

But it’s necessary to suffer through. He’s the Crown Prince, the next Fire Lord, as no one ceases to remind him. Every hand he shakes is accompanied by questions: When is your inauguration? Where is the Fire Lord? When is he abdicating?

Zuko doesn’t know any more than they do and he’s in far less of a hurry to find out. At times he thinks he would rather never become the Fire Lord, but it is his destiny, his place in life. 

Across the room his sister makes better work of the crowd, all small smiles and curt nods. She’s less approachable than he is, and unnerving in her silence, and most avoid her in favor of him. And too many people here remember the child she used to be: wicked and demanding, a cutthroat prodigy.

Carefully he makes his way over to her, eyes peeled for their mother, who has yet to turn up with the Avatar.

“Zuko,” she says when she sees him, breezing past several people attempting to talk with her. “I was just looking for you.” She smiles too wide and links her arm through his, pulling him alongside her. The facade drops the moment she’s out of earshot and she makes a sour face at him. 

“This is horrendous,” she murmurs, rolling her eyes. She’s as petulant as before but it’s scarier now. Gone is her armor from that morning and in it’s place is a dress, a ao dai– dark red with gold trim. She’s awkward in it, ill suited to dresses as she is, and Zuko has no doubt their mother wrestled her into it.

Her wicked smile is somehow more frightening, though, attached as it is to her obvious discomfort.

“General Azula,” a voice drawls from behind them, low and soft. They turn to see Mai approaching and if Zuko thought it at all possible for his sister to brighten up, he would say she does so now. Her entire countenance changes and she laughs, loud and high.

“Hardly a General yet, but soon,” she says with a grin, clasping hands with Mai, who, despite her own dark demeanor, seems equally as excited to see her. Zuko, for what it’s worth, edges away from them, to give them their privacy, but Mai’s sharp gaze lands on him, drawing him up short.

“Zuko,” she says pleasantly, and he nods in acknowledgement. “Where’s the Avatar? I thought certain she would be at your side.”

He grimaces at what he knows is a shot at him. “Unfortunately, she’s been by my mother’s side instead. I’ve hardly seen her since her arrival.”

“Hmm,” Mai murmurs and Azula leans in close to her, whispering in her ear. He’s no doubt of what it’s about. He takes the opportunity to disappear back into the crowd, better caught between political drivel than the two of them, and within moments he’s been stopped again.

The man, a Governor from up north, is two words into his spiel when the crowd goes suddenly quiet and he directs his attention with theirs to the steps leading down into the ballroom. Descending them is his mother and, two steps behind her, the Avatar.

Her presence at once engulfs the room, all eyes on her as she makes her way down. She’s graceful down the stairs, despite her blindness and the length of her dress, which obscures her feet beneath its folds. It’s in the fashion of the Earth Kingdom, her dress– a pastel green hanbok with delicate yellow trim and dark green embroidery. The pattern reminds him of a forest, with large blossoming leaves spiraling across it.

She is a spot of green amongst reds as she reaches the ballroom, but it only lasts for a moment as other emissaries enter close behind her. And in the shadows, dressed in dark greens and blacks, the Dai Li dance around like spiders.

The noise level rises with the new arrivals and he loses sight of the Avatar quite quickly as she’s pulled into the crowd. Everyone is excited to meet her and so quickly lose interest in him. It’s a blessing in disguise and he takes the time to mingle amongst their other guests from the Earth Kingdom.

There’s a distinct nervousness about them all, an anxious buzz that hovers at the edge of every conversation he holds. It’s the summit and the looming conferences and too many uncertainties hanging in the air. A hundred years of war is a lot to repair.

Eventually he finds his way out of the crowd once more and heads to the blessedly deserted balcony, alcoved just off the right side of the ballroom. It’s dark out now but otherwise a beautiful, crystal clear night. Capital City stretches out below, a bright, burning spectacle of light and sound, and beyond, spreading out towards the sea, Harbor City burns just as bright against the ink of the ocean along it. The whole city is alive, as it often is this time of evening, and the warmth of the night hangs heavy in the air.

Zuko makes his way to the edge, resting his arms on the ornate, wrought iron railing that protects him from the sharp drop below, where dense forest stretches from the palace to the cities beyond. Muffled noise from the party drifts out to him, intermingled with the distant noise of the city, and it is a soft lullaby to the backdrop crickets chirping in the night. He yawns loudly, already weary from the night.

He stays there for a while, though, not at all missed from the social niceties of the party, nor missing it, either.

Eventually footsteps behind him draw his attention from the view and he turns to see the Avatar approaching. She looks as tired as he feels, her shoulders slouched now from the weight of the evening. She seems tense and he smiles at her only to realize she can’t see it.

In the nooks and crannies of the shadows he catches sight of movement: two Dai Li guards flank her, left and right. He pays them no mind.

Avatar Bei Fong is serene in the moonlight, which casts a glow about her. She looks as small up close as she does from far away and he finds himself anxious as she approaches and drapes her hands over the railing. He expects they’ll be delicate, but they’re not; her hands are worn and calloused, nails blunt. Earthbending hands.

“Sorry to intrude,” she says, a small grinning playing across her face. “But I imagine the view from here is quite lovely and it seems a good excuse to get away for a moment.”

Zuko laughs at her comment, despite himself, and she laughs as well, an uproariously unladylike laugh. The anxiousness of being in her presence melts away and he feels as if she is far less the doll they have dressed her up to be for the night and far more human than he had ever imagined an Avatar could be.

“Lucky for us then this balcony is less liked than the others, despite the view, which I assure you is the best in the entirety of the Palace.” He feels awkward talking to her, all the same.

“Why is that?” She doesn’t turn her head to him when she speaks and the lack of eye contact is unnerving. He bears with it and continues.

“The late Firelord fell to his death from here,” he tells her, running his hand idly across the rough hewed iron. He was there, but he doesn’t mention that.

She purses her lips together but doesn’t say anything for a long moment. She’s smart enough to know what he means; everyone knows the late Fire Lord didn’t really fall to his death.

“A shame then,” she says at last, “That people let it ruin such a lovely view.”

He nods in awkward agreement.

“But where is the current Fire Lord? I couldn’t help but notice his absence?” she asks after a while and Zuko frowns.

She’s absolutely right; his absence is obvious and everyone has been whispering about it under their breath all night. Rumors abound and his hands are tied to the truth. “He’s fallen ill,” he tells her, a half truth at the very least.

A voice speaks up behind them, “Is he really, now?” before the Avatar can respond and Zuko turns to see Governor Ukano, Mai’s father, striding towards them. His posture is straight and narrow, the smirk on his face something wicked. “Because I heard something different.”

Zuko tightens his jaw, annoyed. “It is the truth. He’s quite ill and the Sages have confined him to bedrest.” Bedrest and privacy and protection, out of the public eye while he heals. Its enough of the truth for even him to believe it, so many times has he spoken the lie. But Ukano is a security risk as all others are, despite his status.

The man draws closer, one hand hidden beneath the front of his robes, an elaborate getup even by the standards of a Governor. Beside Zuko, the avatar is tense, her posture drawing downwards into a slouch.

“I guess it matters not,” Ukano says, stroking his beard with his free hand. He steps forward once more and the Avatar moves with him, backwards into the railing. “Tough old guy. I’m impressed. That poison was particularly strong. Mai’s got a gift for them, after all.” He laughs and drops his gaze to the Avatar. “We’ll try again after I take you two out, though. How lucky I was to find you both together.” From his robe he draws a blade. Zuko recognizes it as one of Mai’s throwing knives.

“Don’t do this,” Zuko says, summoning flames to his hands. He looks beyond Ukano, hoping to catch sight of a guard, anyone, who can intervene. In the shadows, the Dai Li are conveniently missing. “This country can’t survive with war, why would you–”

Ukano cuts him off. “That’s the point,” he says. “Long live the greatness of the Fire Nation.”

He sends the knife flying towards the Avatar and Zuko lunges into it’s path, desperate to stop it. It halts mid air, however, hanging idly for a moment before plummeting hard into the marble flooring, cracking it. Ukano’s eyes widen and Zuko blinks and almost misses what happens next.

The carved wrought iron of the balcony railing flies past him, twisting and warping and catching the man hard in the chest. In but a moment it’s wrapped around him, pinning his arms to his side and sending him flying through the doorway behind him. He lands hard on the floor, sendings screams from the crowd. Behind Zuko, the Avatar drops from her bending stance, looking not the least bit ruffled from the effort.

Guards finally come rushing at the noise.

“He attacked the Crown Prince,” the Avatar tells them and Ukano screams and curses: the Sages, the Nation, the Fire Lord. Zuko stands in the doorway, heart racing, in quiet relief. He doesn’t call out the Avatar on her lie, not publicly, not where the truth could create an international incident.

“We will rise,” Ukano screams as they carry him away. “We will become great again!”

Mai goes somewhat more quietly, all the while her mother sobs in the background. “I had nothing to do with this,” she cries out to Azula as they pull her away from the Princess, who stands quietly, lips pursed, her trembling hands her only sign of anger. “I promise you, Azula. I would never–”

Her quiet voice dies in the noise of the gathered groups and she stops resisting at the look of pain on Azula’s face. Their mother sweeps in, guiding Azula from the room by her shoulders, her hands a vice against the fragility of Azula. Zuko turns away from them both, to where the Avatar stands nearby, away from the attention.

“Avatar,” he begins and she huffs, blowing a strand of loose hair from her face.

“Please,” she pleads, “Just call me Toph.”

 

Toph sleeps restlessly that night. She dreams of fire, and the thick, choking smell of smoke. She stumbles, blinded by it (already blind, though, unseeing in this dream as well, like in all others,) and falls to the ground, crying out, pleading for mercy. Bodies fall around her, thump thump, hitting the floor like sacks, and she hides among them, keeping low to the ground. Maybe if she doesn’t move they’ll think she’s dead, they’ll go away.

It doesn’t work, and she’s dragged to her feet. A hot hand squeezes her around the neck, heating up warmer and warmer and a voice shouts, excitedly, “I found him, I found the Avatar!” Warmth floods her, and power, too, enormous power. The hand on her neck loosens and the body holding her drops like a dead weight. Air rushes everywhere, loud in her ears, drowning out even the sound of her blood rushing to her head.

She can feel herself pull the air from the lungs of everyone around her, suffocating them, sending them flying into walls with the force of her bending. The noise is unsurpassable by any she’s heard before, like the loudest of winds deafening her, roaring through her skull.

And then the noise stops abruptly and she stands in the middle of hundreds of bodies, alone. And her neck burns like fire, an angry pain that flushes down into her chest.

She wakes in a cold sweat in her stifling room, her neck still burning.


	2. 2

The prison is dark this time of night, filled with worrisome shadows and flickering lights from the sconces on the walls. The guards let her through as they always do and if they question at all her presence here so late at night they raise no objections. Azula follows behind them with quick, precise steps.

All around her, peering through wrought iron cell bars, are the sunken, angry faces of  the Fire Nation’s worst— murderers and monsters— and Azula walks by them as she always does and pays them no mind. Her destination is far past all of them, and they’re only a passing thought along the way.

The guards stop abruptly at an unfamiliar door, leading her through it and down another hallway, this one devoid of the rancidness of the prior. Cells still line the walls, but they stand open and empty. Azula draws to a stop almost immediately, narrowing her eyes.

“Where are you taking me?” she asks and both the guards draw themselves up short, eyeing her warily.

“He’s been moved, Princess,” one of them tells her and she clicks her tongue at him, angry.

“And who authorized this?” she demands.

“The Warden.” 

She stands still for another moment, cautiously taking in the empty cells around her, and then finally consents to continuing onwards. They walk for only a few more minutes before they round another corner and then there he is.

He has the whole cell to himself, a much larger one than before, and he lays across his prison cot, stretched out like a lazy cat. He’s awake, much to her surprise, and he flashes the guards a crooked grin as they depart and leave them there alone.

He slinks to his feet, chains rattling as he moves, and greets her with a rasp, his voice too long unused. Regardless, his voice is nothing of the man’s he once was — sharp now, where it once was strong and soft, weak where it once held power. “Azula.” He stares at her through the bars, through layers of choppy, unkempt hair. It’s silver streaked, now, and falls down around his shoulders to tangle in his equally unkempt beard. 

“Was tonight your doing, father?” she hisses at him, refusing to meet his gaze. She’s not slept since and beneath her cloak is her dress from the night before, crumpled now, and wrinkly.

Ozai smiles, tightlipped. “I’ve no idea what you’re speaking of,” he says but it drips with sarcasm and she grits her teeth in the face of the lie.

“If the Avatar had died—”

He cuts her off with an outlandish laugh. “There would have been war. And war will make this nation rise again.” She refuses to dignify it with a response and so he continues.  “Ukano was a mistake, perhaps,” he says. “A fool of a man, too eager for his own good.” He stalks back and forth in his cell, chains rattling loudly in the silence. “He acted rashly. Too soon. He’ll be punished for it.”

Azula purses her lips, fighting back an outburst. “You picked him to get to me, though.” She finally locks eyes with him and it's her own eyes staring back at her. “You picked him because you knew it would drag Mai into it.”

He laughs again and it echoes off the walls. “Ukano was an expendable idiot. His daughter, though – I had hoped to drag her in but she’s too loyal to you, and you’re too loyal to your whore of a mother.” He stops his pacing and staggers forward towards the bars of his cell. “You could be an asset to me, Azula. Your devotion to this nation is misplaced. Your brother, your mother– They’re holding you back. And my idiot of a brother would use you as his pawn to keep you from me.”

Her anger bursts from her and she lunges at him, curling her hands around the bars. “I am nobody’s pawn,” she screams, standing only inches from him now, and her voice echoes up and down the corridor. She stands in the silence after, shaking in her anger, breath coming hard. Ozai steps back from her in one smooth motion, a wicked smile spread across his face.

“Your potential is wasted on them,” he says after a moment. “By my side, you could be powerful—”

“I  _ am _ powerful,” she snaps, clenching her hands into fists. “I am soon to be General, I am one of the Firelord’s most trusted—”

He sneers at her, wrapping his hands around the bars of the cell where her own once were moments before. “A  _ General? _ That’s how he is rewarding you for your servitude to him?”

“ _ You _ weren’t even a General,” she hisses and his eyes widen and something in him seems to break.

“I was a  _ Firelord _ ,” he shouts, his voice thunder in the small hall. The lights in the sconces burn brighter for just a few moments before fading back down to a flicker and Azula’s heart catches in his throat. Her eyes wander to his wrists and the chi blockers that usually adorn them. Their absence is noticeable, now that she thinks to look for them.

A deep fear lodges itself in her and she feels ill. The urge to vomit overcomes her and she holds it back, takes slow, deep breaths. He stares at her steadily, a deep unnerving gaze that looks down into her soul and at last she cries out, “What do you want from me,” unable to take his stare anymore, and at once the flames in the sconces extinguish, plunging them in darkness. It lasts but a moment before a flame flickers to life before Ozai’s face, held aloft in his hand.

He grins at her, wide and vicious.

  
  


Later, Azula sits in her room, alone at her vanity, staring into her own sunken and tired eyes. She feels vague and distant, her fatigue weighing hard upon her shoulders. Her father’s words ring in her ears,  _ you could be powerful _ and in her sleep deprived state they echo around the room as if he were standing in front of her, mocking her as he does.

There’s a knock at the door behind her and the door swings almost immediately open to reveal her mother, who looks far away and near frightening in the reflection of the vanity’s mirror. She approaches slowly, humming softly under her breath and in her hands is a cup of tea, steaming and hot, which she sets gently before Azula, as she has every morning for years. The princess regards it wearily, her hands shaking.

“Azula, sweetheart,” her mother whispers, though she sounds loud in the early morning silence. “You have a meeting in an hour.” Carefully the woman reaches forward and plucks from the counter Azula’s hair brush and sets slowly about detangling her mess of hair. Her elaborate style from the night before, twisted into place carefully by Ursa herself, now hangs limp and wild.

Azula sits for a while and allows it, too tired to raise a fuss, and after a bit her mother stops and rests her hands against her shoulders. Ursa does it when she’s worried for her, and Azula can’t decide if she loathes it or finds it a comfort.

“Please, Azula, you need to drink your tea,” she says and Azula complies, the cup shaking in her hands. It’s hot, still, and bitter to the taste— near pungent enough to make her gag, but she’s accustomed to it now, after so long.

“I’ve arranged for Mai’s release,” her mother tells her as she drinks, and Azula’s hand freezes, teacup pressed against her mouth. She sets it down slowly, nearly done, and gazes up at her mother’s face in the mirror. The women looks as tired as Azula feels but she smiles all the same. “We were able to determine that she had nothing to do with Fire Lord’s poisoning, though she is familiar with what was used, and she told us everything she knew about her father’s activities, which turns out was very little. She’s also offered to help me with an antidote, for the Fire Lord.”

Azula sighs, a weight lifting from her. Quickly, she downs the rest of her tea. It’s lukewarm now and she makes a face, her stomach queasy. “When can I see her?” she demands.

Her mother’s hands press suddenly more firm against her shoulders and Azula takes a deep breath before finally pulling away and standing. “Soon enough,” her mother says, “But more important now is your meeting. The diplomats from the Earth Kingdom will be in attendance, you can not be late.”

Azula nods, “I— of course, yes,” and her father’s words torment her anew,  _ a general? _

  
  


Toph wakes to a persistent, yet polite tapping at her door and she groans, pushing herself upright. Her throat burns something fierce and the memory of her dream from the night before comes floating back. She touches the spot gingerly, but finds nothing there except the memory of a scar she’s never had.

The tapping on the door gets suddenly louder and finally, between muffled yawns, she calls out, “Who’s there?”

Zuko’s voice floats through the door, announcing his presence, and she summons him in as she climbs out of bed. Her feet finally pressing into the cool marble flooring pulls her the rest of the way awake and she curls her toes into it, enjoying the feeling. It’s soothing against the hot heat hanging in the air all around the palace.

Zuko steps in after only a moment and she can feel his tense posture from his place by the door. It’s the same as it was the night before, straight and discomforting. Beyond him, outside of the door, are positioned her two Dai Li, standing vigilante and useless as always.

“Avatar,” Zuko begins. “Sorry to wake you so early.”

Is it early? She hasn’t a clue— There are no windows in her room, and no where down the hall, and all she can hear is the steady thump _ thump _ of Zuko’s heartbeat, and the more distant heartbeats of the Dai Li’s, more steady and less anxious and nowhere amongst those sounds are birds chirping or bugs cricking. For all she can tell it’s midnight and she’s groggy enough that it  very well could be.

Zuko shifts where he stands, moving from foot to foot. She pays him no mind as she moves about the room to the large wardrobe in the corner and pulls from it clothing to wear for the day. She needs no eyes for it, knows it all by texture and touch and across the room Zuko watches her move about in silence.

“I make you nervous,” she says after a moment, stepping into her adjoining bathroom and closing the door. 

“No, of course not,” Zuko says, but the  _ thumpthump  _ of his heart says otherwise. She laughs and decides, probably wisely, to not pursue the subject.

“Did you need something?” she asks through the door.

“Ahh- the Fire Lord wishes to meet you,” he tells her. “He’s asked that you join him for breakfast and tea.” She nods and stretches, fighting back another yawn. “And then after,” he continues, “I thought we could do a little training, give you a chance to see the grounds.” There’s an awkward pause and Toph waits, counting slowly to five. She’s at three when he speaks again. “That is, I mean to say— Not  _ see _ , but—”

She interrupts him with a laugh. “Is that why I make you nervous?” she asks. “Is it because I’m  _ blind _ ?”

“It’s not that,” he calls out, voice muffled through the door. “It’s just that you’re—  _ different _ . Than what I expected.”

Toph snorts, fastening her tunic in place. “Because I’m blind,” she says again. She’s used to it, remembers easily how the Earth King had put her up on a pedestal,  _ the Avatar _ , but never let her do anything from there,  _ delicate and fragile _ . She fights back a scowl.

“My uncle’s told me stories of the last Avatar— of Hama. How she leveled cities and sank ships like it was nothing and—”

She pushes open the door and fixes her eyes on him even though she can’t see him. It’s something she’s learned is very unnerving to people. “You’re uncle killed Hama,” she says bluntly, recalling her dream, though it comes to her like through a fog, barely there and just out of reach. The Fire Nation killed the Avatar before that too, the last of the airbenders.

Carefully, she reaches up to brush against her neck and the now smooth, unmarred flesh there. In her mind, it still aches. “And anyway,” she continues after a moment. “I could level a city, too, had I the mind to do it.”

Zuko ignored the comment, probably for the best, veiled threat as it was. “Hama was a monster,” Zuko says instead, and he’s not wrong, though she doesn’t say as much, fears even more  _ remembering _ as much. They stand there in awkward silence for what feels like forever, the moment stretching out into painful minutes. At last he breaks free from her blind gaze and pads over to the door.

She swallows the lump in her throat and follows after him.

They walk a bit in silence, before at last Zuko broaches the subject that’s likely been on his mind since he’d woken her. “About last night,” he begins softly, drawing them into a slower walk. “I promise you, sincerely, that the Fire Nation means you no harm — Ukano, as far as we know, acted alone and—”

“You don’t need to lie for my sake,” she interrupts. “I’m hardly an idiot. Last night was not an attempt on only my life.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, in which only their footsteps break the silence, and at last he gives a small sigh and continues. “The Fire Nation, as you no doubt know, has a rocky history,” he says, “And there are those who would seek to undermine the Fire Lord’s position, and subsequently my own.” He sounds tired when he speaks, exhausted before his time, and she wonders idly if this was the first attempt on his life— she has no reason to believe it wasn’t, given the slouch in his shoulders while he speaks of it.

“We’d hoped you wouldn’t be caught up in all of this,” he continues, “But I suppose, as well, there was an inevitability when it came to your safety. I think we had all hoped it wouldn’t happen, and that we would be more prepared if it came, but something was bound to happen sooner or later. I’m just very sorry it happened sooner and that we weren’t prepared. We as good as invited Ukano in and gave him the perfect opportunity.”

Toph holds back her scoff out of politeness. “I expected it was a possibility,” she admits after giving it some thought. “I’ve been, quite unfortunately, playing the politics game a while. I understand things happen. But if it means anything at all to you, I can handle myself quite well.”

“I saw well enough last night. That was wrought iron— I never realized earthbenders could—”

“Earthbenders can’t. May I?” She draws to a stop and stands before him on her tippy toes— Zuko is tall, and he leans down hesitantly to accommodate her reach. In the same breath as asking him permission, she snatches from his hair the ornament there, plucking the pin from it first, and holds it aloft in her hand. It’s solid gold, elegant and delicate, but easily malleable— She’s had often enough time to practice on all sorts of jewelry, most of them gifts from the Earth King, meant for the lady he thinks she is.

Carefully, and so he can see, she bends it around her hand, feeling the warmth of the metal as it caresses the skin there. His heart rate spikes and it’s enough of a sign that he’s impressed as anything else. Carefully, she bends it back into it’s original shape— the fire nation symbol— and then places it gently back into his waiting hands.

“As far as I know I’m the first ever metalbender,” she tells him

“That’s amazing,” he says, breathless, and she grins stupidly. “I can only imagine what your earthbending looks like.” And he’s genuine when he speaks and so she only grins all the more.

“You’re in for a treat, then, because I’m probably the greatest earthbender in the world.”

  
  


Breakfast, once they arrive, is Dim Sum — congee and dumplings, both steamed and fried, and its spread across an ornate dining table whose beauty is lost on her blindness. At the head of the table is the Fire Lord.

He looks up at their approach and sets down his tea cup, his hands shaking noticeably as he does so. It’s such a small thing, but from that alone Toph can tell the damage the poison has likely had upon his body, old as he is— and he is old, more so than she had expected, his body frail and seated delicately in his chair.

He stands for her arrival, though she knows it must take him quite a bit of effort, and he bows to her before she can do the same for him. Her own bow is awkward by comparison.

“Avatar Bei Fong,” he exclaims, clasping her hands in his. They’re rough as her own, worn from age and scarred from bending— firebending hands, she thinks idly, but the thought leaves her as soon as it comes. It’s replaced quickly by an unfamiliar pain, except familiar in her dreams— fire, the smell of burning flesh. She coughs on smoke that isn’t there and jerks herself away from him; it’s enough to end the coughing fit and she hurriedly composes herself. Her hands, she finds, are trembling, and she lowers them to her sides, curling them into fists. The coughing is completely passed, now, and in it’s place is a white hot burning in her lungs that lingers, even as the vision doesn’t. 

She swallows the feeling back and bows, again, brushing off Zuko’s concern, his arm gripping suddenly too tight on her elbow. She feels like a fool and her face burns hot.

“Fire Lord,” she murmurs as she bows. “I apologize— It’s nice to finally meet you.”

He seems unperturbed by her coughing and he settles slowly back into his chair. “Please,” he tells her, “Call me Iroh.” He gives a hearty laugh that sounds strange from his weak frame, but it’s enough to clear the awkwardness of her fit and push the memory from her. “My apologies,” he continues after a moment. “I’ve been quite ill— I’m sorry I was unable to greet you properly when you arrived, but I do hope the trip went well.”

She grimaces only barely and allows Zuko to pull her chair out for her. “I didn’t take too well to the sea,” she says, forcing a smile. The feeling in her chest slowly dissipates and she slowly exhales, then inhales, feeling the cool air rushing in to replace it.

“Not many do, their first time out,” he agrees. “I remember less than fondly my own first days on the ocean. I suppose firebenders take even less well to it.” Funny then, Toph thinks, that they have the greatest Navy the world has ever seen. She bites the comment back, but finds it brings a grin to her face all the same.

They exchange small talk while they eat. She refuses Zuko’s help and loads up her plate by smell, something she’s become quite good at. Iroh pours her tea, which she happily accepts, and he takes it as an opportunity to launch into a discussion on the flavor— Jasmine, his favorite— which is only brought to an end by Zuko’s polite changing of the subject.

She listens to him talk and finds it hard to reconcile the man before her with the man she’s heard so much of— Dragon of the West, slayer of the terrifying Avatar Hama. The man who laid siege for over six hundred days to the great, unbreakable Ba Sing Se. Even now, the city reals from the damage he single handedly accomplished.

At long last, the subject changes to her and with some insistence she tells them about herself, though there’s little she’s willing to tell.

“My parents are nobles,” she says after much thought. It’s how the Earth King introduces her, the  _ noble avatar _ — the only two things of note about her to anyone who she often meets. She can hear his weaselly voice in her head and she frowns, continuing quickly. “I grew up in Gaoling, but there’s not much more to say about that. It’s a pretty unexciting place.” She draws the line there, doesn’t say the rest of it: she was never allowed out, she never witnessed Gaoling beyond the four walls of her parents compound. “And it wasn’t nearly as hot there as it is here,” she adds as an afterthought, and Iroh laughs.

“The Fire Nation is built upon volcanoes,” Iroh tells her. “In their prime, their eruptions formed the land we stand upon now. A fitting place for the firebenders of the world to settle, I suppose.” He leans his elbows against the table, resting his chin on his hands. “The Palace and the surrounding city, in fact, are built in the crater of a long dormant volcano, ancient, even, by the standards of the rest in the nation.”

“They say it birthed the entirety of the country,” Zuko adds and Toph frowns. She’s heard the story before: The Fire Nation Palace is the center of the world, and all else further out is lesser than. Enough stories about the war reached her ears, despite the hushed whispers about it she so often found surrounding her.

She doesn’t remark on it, nor does she have the chance to, as the Fire Lord clears his throat, interrupting her train of thought.

“I’m sorry to cut this short,” he begins, “But I have a meeting to attend in just a little while, so I must be off.” He smiles at her and again expresses his pleasure at seeing her.

As he stands, Zuko rushes to help him but Iroh waves him off, procuring from beneath the table a cane. “Please, Zuko,” he says with a small laugh. “Let me be, I’m hardly that old, yet. And besides, I’m better by the day.” He nods in Toph’s direction before he leaves. “I hope to be more back to myself next time I see you,” he tells her and she smiles and wishes him good health in return.

  
  


The sun is high in the sky by the time they make it out into the designated training grounds. The earth beneath Zuko’s feet is rough and barren and stretches out as far as the eye can see, until it comes to meet the distant wall surrounding the Palace grounds, separating it from the city beyond.

Toph takes her place opposite him and falls into a stance that seems relaxed and natural to her. The lines of her shoulders lose the tension that’s been wound up in them since he watched her walk off of the ship the morning before and she raises her arms in front of her like an extension of herself.

He falls into his own stance, slow and deliberate, and takes a deep breath, waiting for her to make the first move. She never does, though, and so he’s forced to instead.

He moves, quick and precise, and strikes hard, sending a stream of flame in her direction. She sidesteps it nimbly, as if the fire whipping past her were nothing more than a gentle breeze. He’s already moving again when she finally bends, and it’s subtle and simple. A small step to the side and a quick jerk of her hand and it’s all he can do to avoid the earth that slams up to meet him.

He’s forced to almost throw himself out of the way and so he uses the motion to thrust a large burst of fire at her. She bends earth up to block it, another small motion, and then she starts moving forward quickly, feet sliding against the ground like she is one with it. Everything she does is one smooth movement rolling into another, all of it seamless.

“You’re holding back,” she says as he rolls to his feet, dropping back into a firebending stance. “Are you scared of a blind little girl, fire prince?” Her grin is wicked and kicks her foot into the ground, sending spikes of earth shooting up at him. He dodges backwards, again and again as one after another rise up from the ground to block his path from her, until he is forced to propel himself forwards and over them with his firebending.

He thinks that perhaps this will give him an edge, as he strikes at her from the air, but she spins to avoid it, though with less ease than before, and a chunk of earth flies at him from the ground that he blasts out of the way with fire.

She’s right. He’s holding back.

He lets himself forget, for a few moments that she is blind, and the next time he bends at her he stops pulling his punches and doesn’t slow, sends fireball after fireball at her, so much so that her ability to dodge is dwindled enough that she starts sending earth up to block the bursts instead of sidestepping them. The first opening she gets, she attacks, and a barrage of stones toss him into the air hard, another rising up to slam into him from behind, and he spins and twists and manages to land safe on his feet some distance away.

Toph laughs loudly, grinning. “That’s more like it,” she calls out, and Zuko smirks.

The quiet power he had witnessed when she stepped off the ship is now loud and boisterous, rearing it’s head at him from across the grounds as she weaves and moves, bending and dodging all of his attacks as if she can read his mind and knows they are coming. It’s something beautiful, the way she bends, and Zuko wishes he were a spectator to their spar so that he could witness it from a perspective other than as an opponent.

It reminds him of Azula, of the strange grace she exhibits when she fights, of the power that overflows and pours from her as she bends. Toph is more than a master, she earthbends as if the earth is hers and hers alone, as if the very element itself exists so that  _ she _ may wield it, just like his sister when she firebends.

Eventually they both begin to slow and Zuko stands panting, watching Toph from across the wrecked training yard. Spikes of scorched earth jut up from the ground all around her and large rocks litter the ground all over. Yet she walks toward him and steps around all of the rubble in her way as if she can see it there in front of her.

“How do you do that?” he asks. “How can you  _ see _ ?”

She smirks and drops her stance, rolling her neck to crack it. “That’s a secret I’m not ready to reveal to you quite yet,” she says.

“Are you— Are you not really blind?” he ventures to ask after a moment and she scoffs. He imagines she would roll her eyes at him if she could.

“Of course I’m really blind,” she says and gives a heavy sigh, seeming to think something over. “I have a connection to the earth,” she tells him, at last. “I can feel the vibrations of everything around me. As long as I’m in contact with the ground, I can feel every move you make the moment you make it.” She points to her feet. They’re covered just barely by her trousers, and she raises them up to reveal she’s barefoot, feet covered in dirt and soot, just as the rest of them are. “I can even feel your heartbeat,” she adds, jabbing him in the chest.

He flushes at that, wondering at all that she can tell just from feeling someone’s heartbeat.

“I can tell when people are lying,” she says, as if reading his mind. “And I can tell that you’re nervous around me. You should maybe try and move past that.”

He shuffles in place, awkward, scratching at the back of his head. “I’m sorry, truly. It’s just strange, I suppose. There was a time where I never imagined I would be training the Avatar— That I would be the Crown Prince, even,” he admits. “And here I am, with you, nearly getting assassinated.” He laughs off the discomfort of the statement, and Toph laughs as well.

Together they walk back towards the palace, leaving dirty footprints along the terrace on the way in.

“I can understand that,” she says after they’ve walked a moment in silence. “I didn’t know I was the Avatar for more of my life than I did know.”

“How old were you?” He asks from a genuine place of curiosity. He can still remember, all too clearly, his mother coming to him when he was nine years old, and telling him his cousin had died in Ba Sing Se. There had been a quiet horror in her eyes and, unspoken between them, the knowledge that the throne would fall to him— the great shame of his father and his father’s father, the presiding Fire Lord.

_ The picture of health _ , his mother had told them, just weeks before Azulon’s death.

“I was fourteen,” Toph tells him. “But my parents knew long before that.”

“And they didn’t tell you?”

She snorts. “Of course not. I was their fragile, blind daughter.” She makes a sour face, not bothering to hide the disdain in her voice. “I was never allowed outside of the compound. No one in the world knew I even existed as Toph Bei Fong, let alone as the Avatar. My entire life up until then was four walls and a lot of boredom. I was not even allowed to earthbend, even though my parents  _ knew _ I was the Avatar.”

“You’re a master though, how did you manage that in only a few years?” It puzzles him, her bending. Never in his life has he ever seen someone command an element so flawlessly and seamlessly save for Azula, though her firebending is all anger and aggression and terror, and he doesn’t dare think to compare it to the beauty of Toph’s control over the earth.

She scoffs. “I hardly let my parents have their way. I learned earthbending on my own time. I snuck out and practiced every night for years. I had mastered earthbending and had even already taught myself metalbending by the time I realized I was the Avatar.”

“You’re a prodigy,” he murmurs. He’s heard the same word applied to Azula, though such compliments had never been directed his own way. He’s a master, sure, but no prodigy. He feels suddenly small next to Toph and he pushes the feeling away as they finally arrive at her door. 

Her Dai Li guards are absent once more and he realizes, idly that they're probably somewhere behind them, following.

“The great shame,” Toph begins as she pushes open the door, “Is that I’ve no way of knowing if I would have been a prodigy outside of being the Avatar. Would I have been one still had I been born just another person?” The question is rhetorical but it sits with him all the same and later, he stays awake long into the night, tossing the what ifs around his head, thinking on the deeper question present there: If things weren’t the way they are now, then how might they have been?

He thinks back to a conversation, if it could be called as such, with his uncle just a week or so prior, when they had at first believed him to be on his deathbed from the poison. He’d been barely conscious, his mind in and out, but at some point clarity had overcome him and he’d looked at Zuko, sitting alone by his side, and said, “I almost didn’t come back, after Lu Ten,” and Zuko’s heart had caught in his throat and moments later his uncle was less lucid once more, caught back in the throes of his fever, never to fully explain his admission, but Zuko had known anyway what he’d meant.

He wonders, lying awake staring up at the ceiling, what his father would have done to the Nation, had he been given the proper chance.

 

And though sleep eludes him, he must fall into it eventually, because he wakes, some hours later, to a heavy knocking on his door that turns out to be his mother. Her face is worn, her age showing more and more in the passing weeks. She looks especially tired now, her hair down and unkempt as if she herself had just been woken as suddenly as he was.

 

“Ukano was just found dead in his cell,” she tells him.


End file.
